


In This Life, And Any Other

by FullmetalArchivist (1stTimeCaller)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, F/M, FMA Secret Santa 2018, How Riza's life could have played out, Riza POV, Romance, Young!Royai, meta-talk about parrallel universes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-09-27 21:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17170106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1stTimeCaller/pseuds/FullmetalArchivist
Summary: “If there is a life after death, whatever kind—heaven, reincarnation, Truth—if there are infinite different worlds in infinite different universes, I swear I’ll find you in every single one. I'll follow you into hell if you ask me to."Shortly after her mother's death, an eight year old Riza is adopted by the grandfather she never knew she had. Inspired by and written for Liberty_Flight.





	1. Met You Before

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Liberty_Flight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liberty_Flight/gifts).



> Happy Holidays to the wonderfully talented [Liberty_Flight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liberty_Flight/pseuds/Liberty_Flight)!!! From your list of likes, I chose: Royai (obviously), Riza-centric and AU. I'm not very well-versed in AUs so I kept it within the FMA 'verse, but I _love_ me some Riza and I was delighted to match up with someone who had such similar interests!
> 
> I binged on your fics to find out what your tastes were like and while a HP AU was a strong contender, I settled on trying out my own interpretation of your fic ["Get in Your Places"](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12567552/1/Get-In-Your-Places-we-ll-be-a-perfect-family) . Hopefully it's different enough to be interpreted as an homage instead of a rip off ;)
> 
> I should have all three chapters uploaded before the deadline, and I really hope you enjoy!

Opening the pantry, Riza took a moment to notice exactly how _full_ it was. Dried herbs bunched with twine, root vegetables, jars filled with spices she’d never heard of before…

It was all a little overwhelming.

Deciding to stick to what she knew, she pulled out some onions, carrots and potatoes. It didn’t take long to find a knife, and as the water boiled on the stove, she peeled and cut the vegetables, leaving the skins and scraps on the counter until she had time to find the composting pile.

She climbed onto the step-stool and scraped the chopped vegetables from the wooden board into the pot. She vaguely noticed the sound of footsteps in the background, but paid no attention until a voice spoke behind her.

“What are you doing?” She turned, knife in hand, to see the grey, wrinkled proprietor of the house.

“Get away from there!” he barked, eyes wide as he lunged toward her. She narrowly managed to side-step his flailing arms, and his hand almost broke the knob of the stove, twisting it hard until the flames under the pot disappeared. Within another couple of seconds, the knife was out of her hand, clattering loudly on the counter. Her feet were lifted from the stool as he hugged her to him fiercely.

Riza barely knew the man she was supposed to call _grandfather_ , but she supposed the hug was more for him than her, so she fought the urge to struggle free from his grasp. When he took her from her father, she had panicked. She had just lost her mother, and until then she had thought her father the only family she had left in the world. But he hadn’t objected when this man told him he’d be taking her away. Riza simply had to trust that her father knew what was best.

That didn’t make it much easier, though. George Grumman was acting as if she’d done something unthinkable. It was only a few vegetables. Riza had been cooking ever since her mother got sick over a year ago, she knew how to make a basic stock.

Her grandfather’s knees trembled as he crouched and lowered her until her feet touched the ground, but he did not release her. “We have a cook,” he said, kindly but firmly. “Her name is Sandra. You don’t have to cook your own meals ever again.”

“Okay,” she replied, because it seemed like the right thing to say. It seemed to work, he loosened his hold on her and straightened, hands on her shoulders. He looked down at her with a sadness in his eyes. It was understandable, Riza supposed. He’d recently lost his daughter. Though Riza was eight years old now and never in her whole life had her mother mentioned him.

He smiled gently, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I should have told you a little more about how things work around here,” he lamented. “I’ve enrolled you in school, starting in the fall. We’ll have to get you a uniform.” He fingered the fabric of her t-shirt, which was tight around her arms, and frowned. “Looks like you’ve outgrown your clothes too. We’ll have to fix that soon.”

“Okay,” she repeated, even though she felt she could get at least another month or two out of the clothes she had.

He stared at her for a moment, before his bottom lip trembled, causing his mustache to wiggle strangely. He hugged her to him again, but his hold didn’t hurt her rib-cage quite so much this time.

“You’re safe now,” he said quietly, voice shaking.

Riza wasn’t aware that she was ever _unsafe_ to begin with.

 

* * *

 

Central was far busier than she was used to. There were more shops, more restaurants, and a lot more people, all of them strangers. Riza held on to her grandfather’s hand as they walked through the streets, worried that if she let go, she would be swept away by the crowd. His other hand held some shopping bags, which brushed gently against her hip with every swing of his arms.

He stopped quite suddenly, and Riza almost walked right into the back of his legs. He looked down at her apologetically.

“I’m sorry to do this to you darling, but I have to make a quick stop. We won’t be long, I promise.”

She nodded her assent as he opened the door of the building and ushered her inside.

It was dark, or _dim_ at least. Riza charged forward, navigating past the mostly-empty tables and chairs until they came to the counter. A bar, she realized when she saw the plethora of glass bottles lining the shelves behind the long counter. Grumman dropped the bags he was holding on the floor and sat on a bar stool. He gestured toward another stool, and Riza climbed up until she was seated beside him. She could see properly over the bar from this height, and she noticed a woman with black hair and a fur-collared coat, bent over and slicing lemons. A cigarette hung from between her lips and a heavy gold necklace rested on her collarbones.

“Surely you have some other girls to do the grunt work for you,” her grandfather said in a warm voice.

When the woman looked up from her work, her eyes caught Riza’s instantly, and widened in surprise.

She recovered quickly, taking a long drag from her cigarette and focusing on the aging man. “Grumman…”

“I know.” His tone was suddenly far more serious.

She stood up properly, placing the knife on the cutting board. “You trying to draw attention to me? I don’t need people asking—”

“I _know_. I’m sorry, Madame, but you know I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t necessary.”

 _Madame_ muttered something uncouth under her breath, before looking at Riza again, a softer expression on her face and a fake smile on her lips. Riza was attuned to adults trying to pretend that everything was fine. She got enough of that at home while her mom was sick.

“There’s not much here I can offer you, kiddo. You want some juice?”

Riza shook her head.

“Soda?”

“No thank you,” she said quietly.

“There’s tea in the back. You know how to work a stove?”

Riza paused, remembering the last time she tried to use the stove, and her grandfather’s reaction. She looked over at him, a question on her lips.

Grumman nodded kindly. “Go ahead. I’ll come get you when it’s time to go home.”

Sliding off the stool, Riza ducked under the counter, following the vague directions Madame muttered to her until she found a small kitchen.

When she had finished making her tea, she looked around for some honey to sweeten it, but when she couldn’t immediately find it, she didn’t feel comfortable snooping further. She’d have to go without. She almost returned to the bar, but her grandfather had mentioned coming to get her, so that implied she were to stay in the kitchen. So she sat at the table, looking around idly. It was strange to be alone in a new place, but she supposed that everywhere was a new place now.

She missed her father, and _her_ kitchen, and her bedroom with the blob of mold that was shaped like a star on the wall. She missed knowing the names of people she saw on the street.

She missed her mother.

Before she could think too much about it, she heard a crashing sound behind her. She turned around to see the door open, but nobody was there. There was, however, a mess of envelopes and a broken bowl on the floor beside a small end-table. The bowl had previously housed keys and coins, which were now scattered across the floor. Riza watched a coin spin on its edge, slowing down gradually until it no longer had the momentum to stay upright. The silence that followed it was thick.

“Hello?” she ventured quietly, watching the door. She waited a few moments but got no reply. She looked at the floor by the door again.

“I can see your shadow!” she called out accusingly.

After a few seconds, a head slowly peeked out from behind the door frame. It belonged to a boy. He looked about her age, maybe a little older. He had messy black hair that covered his forehead and stuck out in funny directions. His warm skin tone was overshadowed by pink cheeks. The irises of his eyes were as black as the pupils, and his eyes were wide, mouth hanging ajar. He looked at her like he’d never seen anything like her before in his life, and she very quickly grew uncomfortable when it was clear he wasn’t about to speak.

“Haven’t you ever seen a girl before?” she snapped, and suddenly the wonder in his eyes turned to panic. He looked away, swallowing audibly. She could see his muscles tense, as if he was getting ready to run away any second now. She bit back a sigh, deciding to take a gentler approach.

“Do you live here?”

He nodded, but still didn’t look at her, instead focusing on the mess on the floor. His cheeks grew redder and he looked like he wished he were anywhere else in the whole world.

She didn’t mean to make him so frightened, but she wasn’t about to _apologize_ to him for it. And if he weren’t about to make an effort with the conversation then she didn’t see why she had to do it. So instead of placating a stranger, she said the first thing that came to mind.

“Where do you keep the honey?”

 

* * *

 

“You’re slacking again.”

“Am not.”

Riza huffed a tired sigh and looked up from her notebook. She fixed him with a blank stare that he countered with an innocent smile. “You haven’t turned a page in twenty minutes,” she said flatly.

Roy’s smile widened, though she could plainly see the guilt he was trying to hide behind it. “I already know all this stuff anyway,” he muttered.

She almost questioned him on it, but Roy was an exceptionally smart boy—a genius, maybe—and she knew if she challenged him and he proved himself right, he would be insufferably smug about it. Instead she brought her attention back to her notebook.

“You said you wanted to come over to study,” she said. “Not _pretend_ to read.”

“Well I lied. I wanted to come over because we haven’t hung out in forever.”

Riza gripped her pencil a little tighter, but didn’t look up. “We see each other all the time.”

“Yeah, for like a few minutes between classes. That doesn’t count!”

“Well, it’s not _my_ fault,” she responded primly, scratching an answer into her notebook. She didn’t much like math, but she enjoyed the feeling of finishing a long equation, even if she weren’t too sure if she had gotten the answer correct.

Roy released a knowing chuckle. “You tone implies that you think it’s _my_ fault.”

Riza looked up at that, blinking at him. “You still haven’t turned the page.”

He frowned, opening his mouth to no doubt call her out on her obvious change of subject. He seemed to think better of it, instead dragging his gaze to the book in his arms reluctantly.

His concentration lasted all of twenty seconds.

“What is the point in learning all this stuff anyway?” he moaned. “School only teaches you a little bit of everything. It’s for people who don’t know already what they wanna do when they’re older.”

Riza thought about not responding—sometimes Roy could be ignored into focusing on his work—but curiosity got the better of her. She put down her pencil and looked over at him again. He looked painfully bored, regarding the book with a hatred he usually only reserved for when he was sat in front of brussel sprouts.

“Do you know what you wanna do when you’re older?” she asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

He looked up at her with a grin. “Sure. I’m gonna quit school as soon as I’m able and find a good alchemy teacher!”

Riza paused. Even after five years, alchemy was still a sore spot for her. She only ever knew one alchemist; her father. She often wondered if he was okay, and if he was taking proper care of himself. But one thing she never wondered was whether or not he was still researching his passion. The last time she spoke to him before Grumman arrived, he had decided to pursue alchemical manipulation of fire. He told her that fire was easy to understand but not much research had gone into controlling it. She could still hear the passion in his shaky voice as he spoke about it.

 _There are more unknowns in this world than knowns, Riza_ , he’d told her. _An alchemist’s job is to tip the scales in humanity’s favor._

It had seemed like such a noble pursuit, so much so that when he hadn’t been by her mother’s side when she finally died, Riza told herself that there was nothing he could do for her anyway, and that he was working to help those who were still alive.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and set her jaw stubbornly. “Is Madame Christmas okay with that?”

Roy rolled his eyes. “She already told you; you don’t work for her. Call her Chris. And _yes_ ,” he said, stretching the word out indignantly. “It wasn’t like she wanted me to inherit the bar or anything.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “It’s not really the kind of place that looks good if there’s a man working there.”

Riza scrunched her nose. “That seems unfair.”

“Works for me. I’ve lived there most of my life, I don’t wanna be there forever.”

“Still, dropping out of school is a big decision.”

“Well I’ve thought a lot about it. And this stupid book just proves my point.” Roy waved the textbook in front of him. “We’re learning about the different religious afterlives. What a useless thing to study! Even if there is a life after death, it’s never been proven. And if it were, what’s the point in knowing about a whole different plane of existence when we barely know about this one?”

_There are more unknowns in this world than knowns…_

“Besides…” Roy continued before Riza got a chance to dwell on the past. “It’s not like I don’t know most of this stuff already. I won’t be missing anything.” He put his hand in his chin, pondering for a few seconds, before a mischievous smile broke through. “Though I will miss the girls.”

Riza huffed a sharp breath through her nostrils. In truth, that was most of the reason she didn’t spend more time with him at school. During recess and as soon as classes were over, Roy was always accosted by some girl or another. Even though he was now fifteen years old, Riza could still see features of the boy she had met years ago. But those features were steadily being overridden by his approaching adulthood. His cheeks were still chubby and his hair was still messy, but he’d grown tall and his shoulders had broadened proportionately. He was a little on the lanky side, but given another year the descriptor would probably change to “lean”. There was a cuteness to him that exuded friendliness, mixed with a handsomeness that girls in the school were beginning to notice more and more.

Of course, she’d never _tell_ him any of that. And she was sure he would talk to her if she approached him, but the girls he talked to were his age, a couple years older than her, and something about being around an older student made Riza feel intimidated.

Except Roy, but he didn’t count.

“They’ll miss you too, I’m sure,” she said, though her teeth were clenched and she didn’t want to analyze why.

Roy’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her reaction, and Riza decided quickly that she no longer wanted to look at him. She picked up her pencil and turned the page in her notebook, beginning to write out a new equation.

“You jealous?” he asked, though not in the teasing tone she had expected.

“Of you quitting school? No. I like school.”

“Pfft. Wait ‘til you have to learn all this afterlife stuff and see how much you like it then. But that’s not what I meant,” he drawled, the unspoken _and you know it_ hanging in the air.

Roy seemed to expect some kind of response from her, but she never did anything just because Roy expected it, and she wasn’t going to start now. She stopped herself from chewing on her lip—a habit Roy once told her she did when she was thinking too much—and instead rifled through her pencil-case for a sharpener.

Roy wasn’t in the _letting it go_ mood today. “You know, you’re getting a bit of a reputation yourself, _Knockout_.”

Riza glared at him sharply. She had earned the nickname “Knockout” after she had thrown a punch at a boy for trying to play keep-away with her schoolbag. He had been unconscious for maybe twenty seconds _at most_. The only reason she didn’t get in trouble was because he was too embarrassed to admit he’d been knocked out by a girl. But either the teachers were blind or they were not paid enough, because once word got out among the students, Riza couldn’t walk down the corridor without hearing someone echoes of the nickname.

“Will Foster had it coming to him.”

“Didn’t say he didn’t. But for real; you’re starting to get some— _ahem_ _—_ attention around school. Even some guys in my class have asked me what your story is.”

The sharpener slipped through her fingers and back into the pencil case quietly. Riza was glad her momentary shock wasn’t punctuated by it clanging on the table. “Really? Who?”

Roy’s eyebrows instantly scrunched together, and for a moment it looked like he was scowling at her. But a lazy smile quickly replaced his hinging jaw. “Why? Should I tell them you’re interested?” he teased.

“No,” she snapped, maybe a little too defensively. “I just wanted to know who can’t find a girl their own age?”

“Do you think two years older is too old?” his expression didn’t change but he leaned forward slowly, suddenly looking very interested in her answer.

After a few seconds, she shrugged. “I guess not,” she mumbled, and his shoulders loosened instantly as she spoke. He leaned back again, tipping his chair until it was balancing on two legs and clasping his hands behind his head.

“You shouldn’t be so surprised to hear guys are asking after you. You’re very…” His eyes swept lazily from her head to her collarbone and back up, and he narrowed his eyes as he tried to decide on a word. He settled for: “…interesting.”

Riza felt her cheeks heat up, which was as good a sign as any to change the subject.

“If you’re not gonna study, at least stop talking so I can get some work done,” she said firmly, picking up the sharpener again. “And if you’re planning on leaving school, you should be trying to learn as much as possible before you go.”

 _"You_ should be trying to spend as much time with me as you can. I'm allowed leave once this year is up and then who are you gonna try and avoid at recess?" he teased, though she could hear the hurt leak through. She didn't think he'd take it so personally. "Come on, I bet Sandra would let us have some hot cocoa with cream if we asked her politely enough."

Riza opened her mouth to object, but really, hot cocoa didn't sound like a bad idea. _"Five minutes,"_ she said with a point of her finger, before closing her notebook.


	2. Know You Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know that I said I'd have the whole thing done by Jan 1, but that was 2018 me, and you can't judge me by 2018 me's standards so you can't be mad.
> 
> I hope to have the last chapter up by next week. It's mostly written, but I have a new job now and not very much free time until I can get a routine of some sort put into place. Thanks for the response so far though, it's been amazing!! This chapter has a lot of timeskips, to move the story along and focus on the important divergences from canon. I hope you enjoy!

As Riza toweled off her hair, she heard the front door open downstairs. Grumman’s booming voice was hard to miss, but she still wasn’t quite sure she’d heard him right.

“Roy! What a pleasant surprise.”

It wasn’t until she heard the familiar voice—deeper, muffled by distance, but undoubtedly _his_ —responding that she fully believed what she was hearing.

“General Grumman,” he responded, with all the respect of a soldier addressing a superior. Riza almost snorted at the thought. “This place is very impressive.”

Grumman laughed. “One of the benefits of being put out to pasture, my boy. Now I get to live out the rest of my days away from the bustle of Central.”

“You’re hardly old enough to be making retirement plans.”

“Trust me, Roy. The quiet of Eastern Command is practically a retirement already. Now come inside before you let all the cold out.”

Riza could hear the joviality of her grandfather’s tone, but if he truly believed his transfer was nothing more than a boring reassignment, he wouldn't have been acting so strange since the move. Not that he wasn't always a bit strange, but there was a wariness to Grumman now that she hadn't seen before, a tightness in his posture that made him seem constantly ill at ease. And even though East City was far quieter than Central, Grumman behaved as if it were infinitely more dangerous. He wouldn't let Riza go out alone in the evenings, and she wasn't allowed to spend time after school hanging out with friends without advance notice. She'd broken that rule exactly once, and it resulted in almost half an hour's worth of _Anything could have happened to you_ and _I almost sent some MPs out to look for you!_ Riza was used to him being protective, but she wasn't adjusting well to him being so strict.

“Are those for Riza? She's in her room. Up the stairs, first door on the right.”

_“Uhhhh…”_

Riza sighed, throwing her towel into the wash basket. Maybe “strict” wasn't the right word.

Before her grandfather could fluster the poor boy more, she opened the door to her room loudly and leaned against the bannister on the landing.

“Are what for Riza?” she called out, just to say something to announce her presence. Both men below turned around to the sound of her voice.

Roy had a bouquet of flowers in one arm, holding the wrapped stems while the colorful melange rested in the crook of his elbow. The red roses dotted through the arrangement matched the color of his face—no doubt he was embarrassed that she had heard the exchange—but his smile was genuine.

Grumman smiled as well, with a twinkle in his eye that she ignored. He excused himself with the intentionally flimsy excuse of having to prepare for a meeting, and left with a parting wink.

Riza forced herself not to hurry down the stairs, but her deliberate pacing made her feel fully on display. Roy stayed in place, eyes shamelessly following her movements. She was hyper-aware of where his eyes strayed, from her face to her neck to her hips as she walked down the steps, then right above her forehead. Her self-consciousness spiked as amusement lit up his eyes. Her hair was still damp and she hadn’t brushed it, so she could only imagine the bushy cowlicks sticking out from her scalp. That coupled with her long, shapeless skirt and oversized t-shirt made her feel entirely underdressed for the surprise reunion.

When she finally reached the bottom of the stairs, she walked a little quicker, smiling broadly at him. Playing coy never worked on Roy anyway; he could always see right through her pretend stoicism.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Roy said as she approached, a teasing lilt to his voice. “You’re thinking “wow, he’s _grown."_

Riza reached a hand out and pressed her thumb and forefinger to his plump cheeks, smooshing them together until his lips pursed into an amusing “o” shape. “Actually, I was thinking the exact opposite.” Before he could frown or shake her off, she released him. “So are they?”

He blinked. “Hm?”

“For me.” She nodded at the flowers. “Are those for me?”

_“Oh!”_ He gripped the arrangement more securely and tilted it toward her. “Yeah. Some of them didn’t fare too well on the train journey but—”

“They’re lovely,” she assured him, taking them from him and pressing her nose into a tulip. “Though not as lovely as the ones your aunt sent me.”

“Yeah, well, she has a business and I blew all my savings on lessons.”

Riza picked up the slight bitterness to his tone. “What happened? Bad teacher?”

“ _Great_ teacher, just didn't teach me what I wanted to know.” Roy sighed, shoulders sagging as he lost himself in a memory. He shook himself from his introspection. “Anyway that's not important,” he announced cheerily, his smile just a little too wide. Riza narrowed her eyes at him, but it had been so long since she'd seen him in person and if he didn't want to talk about it, she wouldn't make him.

His smile softened, and he reached out to smooth her rapidly-drying hair, his fingers catching slightly on the small knots. “Happy birthday,” he said sincerely.

She knew he was probably only passing through on his way to Central, but the timing couldn't have been better. To see  her best friend on her sixteenth birthday felt special, even though she'd spent plenty of birthdays with him before. “Thank you. There might still be some cake leftover from yesterday's party.”

He shook his head as he continued to flatten the errant hairs. “No thanks. I think I'd just end up comparing it to Sandra's cakes. It's a shame you had to move.”

“She moved with us, actually. Grandfather says it cost him a fortune, but her lemon drizzle is worth it. Come on, you can scavenge a slice while I put these in water.”

Roy hummed affirmatively, but made no move to release her head from his improvised combing. He seemed lost in the motions of untangling her short, damp hair, so absorbed that he completely missed her confused raised eyebrow.

He didn’t look her in the eye again until his hand had found the curve of her neck. His palm seemed to fit perfectly, cool and soft against her skin as he cradled the base of her skull. His lip twitched into an awkward smile before he cleared his throat and his eyes darkened. Still, he didn’t move his hand.

When she caught his gaze flickering to her lips, her chest tightened. Was he…

“Are you planning on kissing me?” She had meant to sound like she was teasing him, but the question came out breathier than expected.

His fingers flexed against her neck. “Maybe.”

The room became impossibly quiet. Riza couldn’t hear the wind outside, or the gentle, pulsing hum of the wood-burning stove, couldn’t hear her own breath, though it didn’t register that she wasn’t breathing. Roy’s nervous confirmation surrounded her like water, muffling her ears and unfocusing her eyes and trapping her from the world beyond the two.

The moment stretched unsurely, and after what felt like forever, Riza felt ridiculous, as if she had just caught herself listening to a record that had been skipping for a full minute. Eventually her anticipating held breath rushed out of her chest. “Well?”

Roy grinned nervously. “Give me a minute,” he laughed, stepping in closer to her. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly.

Riza leaned towards him, tempted to take over and press her lips to his, but she decided against it. He probably wouldn’t mind—probably _expected_ it, even—but this was his decision, and she wasn’t about to give him the easy way out.

Her patience was rewarded. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her face as his palm tilted her head ever so slightly. When he finally kissed her, it began feather-light, and she could barely feel the slide of his bottom lip before he'd pulled away again. Then, hearing his sharp inhale, she instinctively held the flowers out to the side, away from the space between them. He pulled her toward him again, closer, his lips firm and curious against hers.

She'd thought about him a lot when he'd left for alchemy lessons, missed him, fantasized about kissing him more times than she’d ever admit to herself. The abstract way in which she imagined he'd feel, react, taste, was always like a crashing, rolling crescendo, but it was nothing like this. It turned out that kissing Roy Mustang felt as natural as breathing.

When he pulled away again, she found herself drifting, following him for just a moment before regaining her senses. She pulled herself back, lids fluttering open to meet his eyes—glazed over, pupils blown.

He smiled again, nervousness replaced with something that looked a lot like gratitude. A short, giddy laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

“You're so… I've always…” He stumbled on his words in a rush of breath before squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment. Inhaled. Exhaled. Opened his eyes again. “I missed you.”

Riza hoped she didn’t look as dizzy as she felt at the simple, earnest confession. “I missed you too.”

 

* * *

 

Sprawled on the couch, she tucked her feet under his legs for warmth, an action she had been doing innocuously since they were children, but it seemed to have a new meaning ascribed to it. It was more than just cozy now, it was intimate in a way she had never considered before.

He seemed to notice too, leaning his head back against the cushions and letting out a contented little sigh at the contact. He chewed his cake slowly, as did she. Whoever would be the first to swallow would also be the first expected to talk, and they were in that awkward in-between space that made her struggle to think of what to say.

He was taking a train back to Central this evening, back to his aunt. East City and Central weren’t exactly remote, but they were far enough away from each other that visiting a friend would feel too sporadic, not to mention a partner. So obviously dating seriously was out of the question for them, but they knew each other too well, cared for each other too much to make anything casual work. So the simplest option was to forget anything ever happened and meet again in a few weeks (months?) as friends.

But for now, she could enjoy the giddiness of something new, enjoy the flush of her cheeks when he picked up her feet and placed them on his lap, fingers slipping under the hem of her long skirt to massage her calves.

When he lolled his head to the side and regarded her, she realized that she’d swallowed her piece of cake without thinking. Now he expected her to have something to say.

“Tell me about your lessons,” she decided on, mostly just as a distraction. She didn’t expect his shoulders to stiffen at the question, didn’t expect his fingers to tighten around her ankle uncomfortably.

He chewed for a moment longer before swallowing. “We don’t have to talk about that now,” he said softly, casting his eyes over her shoulder.

“It’s been most of your life for over a year,” she answered, an edge of suspicion creeping into her voice. He’d dodged the subject earlier too. And, come to think of it, had barely spoken about it during his infrequent phone calls. She thought it was because alchemy wasn’t a topic she particularly enjoyed talking about, but she knew he wasn’t foolish enough to think she wouldn’t be interested in finding out how his studies have gone. “What’s going on, Roy?”

When he met her eye again, the guilt that swirled in them almost made her want to retract her question, to forget about whatever it was he was avoiding and go back to comfortable nervousness for a little longer. Because it made no sense whatsoever to her for Roy to feel guilty about alchemy, unless…

Understanding dawned on her, turned her stomach, crept up her oesophagus, and suddenly the answer was written plain on his face.

“Him?” The question was practically a whisper, though Riza suddenly felt far from calm.

“It wasn’t my—”

“ _Him_?” she balked, louder.

“I was told not t—”

“How could… My _father…_ Why didn’t you…” Riza stuttered, swinging her legs off his lap and onto the floor, sitting up properly. It was unthinkable, the idea that Roy could hide anything from her, let alone something like this. His expressive face was like an open book to her, she never considered that the only thing he’d need to break her trust would be distance.

“Riza—”

She almost shouted _I kissed you!_ , almost threw his moment of boldness back in his face. Almost, but she stopped herself.

Still, when she bit a terse “I trusted you,” his face twisted painfully. He reached out as if to touch her before thinking better of it, hand falling to his side pathetically.

“I’m sorry,” is all he said.

“How did you even get him to take you? Did you look for him on purpose? When were you planning on telling me, Roy?” She could hear her voice get higher in pitch. There must have been dozens of other teachers he could have chosen, had he read the name Hawkeye and decided it just didn’t matter?

“I wanted to tell you right away.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Roy opened his mouth and paused, but Riza had already realized the answer. There was only one way this could have happened, only one other connection Roy had to her father.

She stood up and left the room without another word. She didn’t stall when he called her back desperately.

 

* * *

 

“You sent Roy to learn from him. Why?”

Grumman set his tea down on the desk, turning the page of his newspaper. He didn’t try to pretend not to understand her meaning.

“Berthold Hawkeye has been holed up in his house since the day we left.”

Riza scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “And you wanted him to have company?”

“No, Riza. His research is very advanced. I wanted to know how far he’d come along.”

“You? Or the military?”

Grumman looked up from his paper, eyes soft. “Me. Truth be told, I’m very glad your father has never accepted the offer to join the State Alchemist’s program.” Then, under his breath, just loud enough for Riza to hear, he muttered: “Though I doubt he’d pass the psych evaluation.”

Riza’s hackles raised at this. It’s been clear since she met him that Grumman has hated her father, and judging from the fact that he’d been estranged from his only daughter, Riza would wager the hatred was older than her.

“So I can’t hang out with friends in the evening but you’re comfortable letting Roy study with someone you think is a lunatic.”

“Roy isn’t my only surviving family member.”

Riza sighed frustratedly. There was no way she was getting an apology from the man, and she wouldn't take it if she did; it was clear he was not sorry. But she wasn’t leaving without something.

“I want to meet him.”

Grumman’s eyes flashed, but he gave a stiff nod. “We’ll visit in—”

“ _I’ll_ visit. Not you.”

His jaw clenched and he remained silent for a full minute, but Riza never wavered. Finally, he spoke.

“We’ll arrange something for the spring break.”

Riza nodded and turned to leave.

“Riza.”

She paused, but didn’t turn back to face him.

“You can meet him, and you can spend some time getting to know him,” he said, voice darkening.

“But if I have to go there and drag you back home, I will.”

She left without responding, closing the door with a little more force than necessary. It was getting harder and harder to live under her grandfather’s roof. He treated her like something precious, like she didn't have a mind of her own. He treated her like he thought he'd lose her if she was out of his sight for five minutes.

 

* * *

 

“Your aunt will be pleased to see you.”

Roy jumped at her voice, turning to face her before standing up from the bench so quickly he almost tripped over himself.

“Riza…”

“Didn’t stick around to say goodbye?” she teased, stepping closer to him.

“I didn’t think you’d want me to,” he said dejectedly, scratching the back of his head.

The platform bustled with people loading their luggage onto the train. Nobody paid them any mind as they stood talking.

“I’m… better now,” she said. She would rather have had more time to stew in her own anger before forgiving him, but there was no time left. They hadn’t seen each other in so long, and he was about to go to another city entirely. Leaving on a sour note would make it much easier to just lose contact completely. So she decided to forgive him quickly, before that could happen.

“I’m still really sorry,” he said, and she could tell that he meant it. The train whistled its five-minute warning.

He reached forward slowly, as if trying not to startle her, and took her hand from her side, stepping forward and bringing it close to his chest. Both his hands cradled hers, and his fingers squeezed her palm.

She wasn’t yet in the smiling mood, less so as she watched other passengers board the train. Roy was leaving again, going back to the city she had considered home for a time, without her.

“Say hello to the Madame from me.”

“Of course. Riza, before I go…”

The nervousness was back in his eyes, and for a moment she thought—hoped, if she were being honest—that he might kiss her again. But his grip on her hands loosened.

“Your father,” he began, unable to look her quite in the eye. “By the time I was about to leave, he’d gotten sick. I think it’s serious.” He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of her hand gently. “If you’re thinking of visiting him, I’d go sooner rather than later.”

Riza nodded slowly, unsure of exactly how to feel. Until today, it had been a long time since she’d even thought about her father, and having swung between so many emotions today, she couldn’t bring herself to feel anything more than tired.

“Anything else?” she asked quietly, turning her hand so she could feel Roy’s palm against hers.

Roy sighed. “ _Yes_ , actually.”

 

* * *

 

She wasn’t sure if things had drastically changed or if her childhood self had been collecting a gallery of false memories. It wasn’t this empty before, right? Was there more color on the walls? She remembered a garden, not the wild blue grass and ivy she saw on the way inside.

This man before her, with long matted hair and sunken eyes, was a complete stranger to her.

His voice was rough when he finally spoke. “You look…” He trailed off, but she knew exactly what he wanted to say. Her grandfather told her sometimes, in his softer moments, when his eccentricities melted and his genuine smile shone through.

She looked like her mother.

But Riza has seen portraits and photos, and she has scanned her mother’s face countless times. She saw nothing of herself in the woman. Standing in front of her father, she wondered if maybe he and Grumman had collected false memories as well.

“…Grown,” he finally finished.

Riza kept her eyes on him, even though she wanted desperately to look away. “Roy said you were unwell.”

Berthold Hawkeye smiled sadly. “Mustang. He mentioned that you were his friend. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Because of him.”

He could have meant that she came because he had suggested she visit him. And he wouldn’t have been entirely wrong. He _could_ have meant that, but something in his tone told Riza that he knew better than that. She felt prickly at the thought that this man could know something about her, know anything about her at all.

She was never good at playing dumb, so she decided not to bother. “Yes.”

“Has he made his decision, then? Is he becoming a dog of the military?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” He looked down at his hands, the disappointment clear as water in his otherwise cloudy eyes.

“So you know what I’m going to ask.”

“I do.”

“What’s your answer, then?”

“I think you already know.”

Riza’s nostrils flared as she took a deep breath. She had the juvenile urge to stamp her foot, but that wouldn’t do. She wasn’t a child anymore, and the man in front of her would have no patience if she acted like one.

“There’s a war going on.”

“There are always wars, Riza.”

“He’ll be sent to the front lines. Without your research, he’s just another soldier.”

“That’s his choice.”

“He’ll die!”

“You live like a dog, you die like a dog!” he snapped, loud enough to echo against the bare cement walls. His outburst was punctuated with a coughing fit. A hollow, bone-shaking fit that had him curled up in his bed, clutching his stomach. Riza clenched her fists, regret rising up her throat like bile. She had all but forgotten that he was sick; it wasn't why she was here.

When he regained control of his breathing, he spoke again, his voice much weaker. “You’re asking for too much.”

She knew that he was right. Roy had been chosen by her father as a student, and deemed unworthy of the right to learn his secrets. She had no real right to an opinion on that matter, it was between Roy and her father. It was, in all instances, none of her business.

But whose fault was that?

“I have never asked you for anything else,” she said, with a coldness she didn't know she possessed.

 

* * *

 

Riza’s neck was wet with drool. After having caught the inside of her cheek with her teeth, she had pulled the collar of her shirt up and bit down on it instead. The material was thin, providing little cushioning between her clamped jaws, but it was better than nothing at all.

“You’re barely bleeding,” he said, as if praising her. “This may go quicker than I expected. It could be done within a fortnight.”

The idea of two more weeks of this brought stinging tears to the corner of her eyes, blurring the bookshelf in front of her into a watercolor. She knew only from the receding light of the sun that she had been lying on her stomach all afternoon, on the hard wood of the desk in the study because the mattress wouldn’t have been stable enough.

“Riza, what I'm giving you is very powerful.”

She was too afraid to nod, lest the movement cause a mistake, but she released a scratchy, wordless sound from her nostrils, a quiet scream to show she understood.

And she did understand. Because it _felt_ powerful, a raw force injected into her skin, tearing her apart from the inside. He had refused to give her notes, said he had none, that he couldn't write the instructions on paper. And it made sense now, because surely that paper would just burn up, or tear into tiny pieces, if the research could do such wicked things to flesh.

He pulled the needle away but it did little to relieve the pain. Her nerve endings still felt hot, the skin so swollen she worried it might burst open and peel away from her completely.

“I mean it, child,” he said sternly. “Someone using this…” He rounded the table and crouched until he was at eye level with her. She could see the veins of her own eyeballs, and they spidered across his face in her vision, the red lines adding color to his face. He hadn't so much as coughed in hours.

“Riza. If you reveal this research, Mustang will have one of the most destructive forms of alchemy at his fingertips. It is your responsibility to make sure he doesn't abuse this. _Never_ show this to anyone you aren't prepared to shoot.”

Now that it was safe to move, she nodded, chest shaking as she tried to get some more air into her lungs.

Her father smiled, wiped her wet fringe from her forehead reverently, and stood up.

When the needle pierced her skin again, her stomach clenched and her lungs burned to scream. She kept as still as possible, and thought back to the day she had arrived in Central with her grandfather.

_You're safe now_ , he had told her, and she didn't know what he meant.

Now she knows.

 

* * *

 

She stared at the gravestone of Berthold Hawkeye, stood right beside the moss-ridden stone with the faded engraving of her mother’s name. She hadn’t even thought to visit her mother’s grave when she was here two years ago. The realization left guilt sitting in the pit of her stomach.

“You shouldn’t have paid for all this,” she murmured to Roy.

“It was the least I could do, after everything he’s taught me.” Roy hung his head as he stared at the stone, just as Riza was doing. It seemed like the correct way to stand at a grave.

Grumman hadn’t come with her. He said that it would be disrespectful for him to go; her father hated him, though that was more of an excuse than a reason. She wondered if Berthold would be pleased to know that she attended. He didn’t seem to think much of anything about her.

“The uniform suits you,” she said, watching his smile from the corner of her eye.

“Thanks. Though he’d have hated to see me in it. Your father always told me that soldiers are left to die like trash on the side of the road.” Roy laughed gently, as if recalling the words of a doting parent instead of an angry madman. “That may be, but I know it’s the only way to make a difference. I know I’ll never be happy if I don’t try to make this country a better place.”

He turned to her with a regretful smile. “I wish I could have done it using his research, but I guess I’ll have to work something out for myself.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. You’ve lost your father and I’m being childish about not getting to use his work.”

She stared at him, because it was easier than looking at a gravestone, and because he was _alive_. Alive and grown and still kind. Gone was the boy who just wanted to prove himself better than anyone at alchemy. She knew his ego was a front, but she hadn’t seen the depth of what it was hiding. He truly wanted to help people, and he was willing to risk his life to do it.

She couldn’t understand that bare compassion, that idea of fighting for people you didn’t even know. She had that urge to protect and to love, but it was given to those that earned it, and mostly to him. If his goal was to save the world, she’d learn to extend her heart, to protect his goal as well, his country, with everything she had.

“Not at all. There’s nothing childish about caring.” She turned back to the grave, waiting in solemn silence until she had deemed it the appropriate amount of time passed to pretend to have been saying goodbye.

_Here Lies Berthold Hawkeye._

“Come on, I have something to show you.”

 

* * *

 

She slammed the front door closed, letter opened and crumpled in her fist, and stomped towards the dining room, where he usually sat with the newspaper for morning breakfast.

The newspaper was folded in front of him, his food untouched. He was waiting with an expectant, almost apologetic expression.

“I didn't qualify,” she said through clenched teeth.

“You didn't even tell me you were enlisting.”

“But you knew, didn't you? Did you do this?”

“Sit down, Riza.”

She ignored him. “You can't make these kinds of decisions for me!”

“It's not safe.”

“I know the risks—”

“No, you _don't_.” His voice reverberated through the room, stern but shaking, and Riza faltered at the sound.

That paranoia was in his eyes again, whatever fear he had been trying to hide since the transfer now bubbling up to the surface, curling his hands into fists.

“I'm not talking about war, or duty, or outside dangers. I'm talking about the military. _The military_ isn’t safe.”

Riza shrunk a little more at the frenzy in his voice. Despite Grumman's unconventional disposition, he had always been steadfastly pro-military. Maybe even power-hungry, while he was in Central. She would occasionally hear him mutter about one day “taking Bradley's post”, and unless there was a General she hadn't met, it was clear he was talking about the führer. What was it that could have someone willing to hold treasonous ambitions so frightened?

Though Riza was now aware that if he were afraid, she should be too. But she wasn't—not for herself, at least.

Roy, however… Roy had just gotten his State Alchemy licence. He was a Major in the military that she was now being told is unsafe from the inside out.

Grumman seemed to recognise the glint of concern in her eyes. “I'll do my best to take care of him. But you're not joining him.”

“Grandf—”

“Riza. _Please_ sit down.” Grumman took off his glasses, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching his brow as if he were trying to wish away a migraine. This time, Riza sat, posture a little less battle-ready.

“I know you want to do what you think is right. But the military is not an option for you. There are other ways you can help,” he mumbled offhandedly.

Before she could respond, his hand fell on the table, jolting her. His eyes widened, mouth falling open as if he'd had a _eureka_ moment. Then, his forehead wrinkled, a quick calculation, and Riza got a glimpse of the old deviousness he used to show when he was working from home.

He said it again, more surely this time.

“There are other ways you can help.”


	3. Find You Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I had to cut out a lot from this chapter because it was insanely long. I probably should have upped the chapter-count but instead I decided that not everything had to be shown, and hopefully I left enough to give you all a good idea of how this AU would get to the point that I've taken it to. If you have any questions about the blanks that you'd like filled, let me know!
> 
> Again, this was a Secret Santa project for [Liberty_Flight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liberty_Flight). So happy Christmas Liberty Flight! And Happy New Year, and Lunar New Year, and an early Happy Valentine's too, for good measure! Sorry it took so long to get here but I hope you enjoy!

She let a laugh slip past her teeth—a tinkling, musical sound that vibrated like the wet rim of a crystal glass. Chin on her hand, leaning forward _just so_ , she watched his eyes travel to the dip of her collar.

She’d always considered herself above the trappings of power, but there was just something about the glaze of a handsome man’s eyes as she choreographed her every move; it made her chest purr with satisfaction.

But for all the fun she was having, basking in the full attentions of a man who seemed genuinely kind and _unquestionably_ attractive, there was something fundamental missing from the flirty back-and-forth. She took a deep breath to dampen her frustrations, smirking internally at how the movement mesmerized her enraptured audience.

“So what’s your specialty, soldier?” she asked, voice low with an affected husk.

He blinked, returning his attention to her face with a cocksure grin.

“I don’t like to brag, but I know my way around a gun.”

“Oh really? Think you could teach me a few tricks?” She reached toward his glass, elegantly swiping a bead of condensation with her finger. In truth, she already had a pistol in her purse and more than enough knowledge of how to use it. But she was not above stroking an ego or two. “A girl’s gotta know how to protect herself.”

“I could protect you,” he said eagerly, eyes wide and excited at the prospect. She felt warmed through, flattered. He really did seem like a sweet guy.

“ _Elizabeth…_ ”

The interruption wasn’t exactly welcome, but the voice certainly was.

Roy sat on a barstool right beside her new acquaintance. He propped his elbows on the bar and shot her an amused smirk.

“You don’t need to worry about this one. Havoc’s one of mine.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, you’ve got the right men behind you,” she responded, before affecting a pout. “I was giving him all my best moves and I got nothing out of him.”

“That’s impressive. I doubt even I could stand against your interrogations.” His voice billowed in a low, seductive tone to rival her own. Which wasn’t particularly surprising, given that they had the same teacher.

Havoc’s eyes darted between the two of them, a crease on his forehead. “What’s happening?”

Roy patted his back. “Jean, why don’t you put those muscles to good use and help Vanessa change out a keg?” He pointed to Vanessa, who tossed her hair behind her shoulder and smiled when she caught Havoc’s eye.

“Uh, sure. I mean, yes sir.” Havoc rose and walked toward the brunette. He looked back at them once more, confusion etched on his face. She shot him a playful wink, silently delighting in how his expression melted into a serene grin.

Roy tapped on the bar twice, recapturing her attention.

“Is your boss in?”

“She’ll be back in a few hours,” Riza says nonchalantly. “She left me in charge though. Is there anything I can help you with, Roy?” Her voice drips with feigned innocence.

“ _Mmm_. Maybe a drink, for starters.”

Riza poured him one of the cheaper whiskeys—he was never pressured to pay, but that didn’t mean she was going to waste the good stuff on him—and leaned against the bar, thankful that the crowd was small tonight.

Roy reached out a hand to roll a lock of hair between his fingers. “Long hair suits you.”

Riza tilted her head back to release her chestnut brown hair from his grasp. It had grown quite long, longer than she’s ever worn it. She didn’t mind the maintenance much, except for when her roots would show and she would have to endure the smell of chemicals for a night as she dyed it.

“So how long are you in town for?” she asked.

“You probably already know. You have a knack for knowing everything, Elizabeth.”

She smiled. “Humor me.”

Roy took a sip of his drink and leaned forwards, so close their noses were almost touching. “Just a couple of nights. Can’t leave my superior alone for too long.”

“And how is your superior these days?”

“Oh, you know. Still not the same since his granddaughter ran away.” He smiled sadly and she schooled her expression to look closer to pity than melancholy.

It was mutually agreed, of course. In order to do the work she did, she could not be associated with a general. Still, the only thing that made it easier was knowing that he had Roy looking out for him. It was strange, really, how they had essentially switched parents. The Madame looked after her like one of her own, and she hadn’t left without a promise from her grandfather that he would do the same for Roy.

The bar was quiet but not empty, so Riza changed the subject before she was at risk of letting something slip.

“So what kind of suite does the military shell out for when the famed Flame Alchemist goes away on business?”

Roy’s playful grin returned, eyes twinkling as if he’d  been waiting for her to ask. “Actually, I was thinking of staying in my old place. I grew up around here, didn't you know? It’d be nice to see what my old room looks like.”

Riza did know, of course. And she also knew exactly what his old room looked like, because she slept in it every single night.

A wave of a hand at the other end of the bar grabbed her attention, and she straightened up, shooting him one last secretive smile. “Well, welcome back, Roy. Don’t work too hard.” She walked away with an extra swing to her hips, and he watched her without a hint of embarrassment. _Perk of the job_ , she supposed.

 

* * *

 

She was used to forcing a smile, but not around him. Even though her job, her name, her very existence since she was eighteen years old revolved around deceit and subterfuge, she never more like a liar than when she laughed airily at his half-hearted attempt at a joke.

The rings around his eyes spoke for themselves, but even if they didn’t, his limp, grey complexion and his general disheveled appearance would take up the mantle. She had met Hughes a few times, heard about him plenty and seen enough pictures of his wife and daughter that it felt like they were practically family. Roy had lost a brother; there was no other way to put it. Still, even if his happiness was important to her, his goal came first, and his safety was a close second. Her job now was to make sure he didn’t do something stupid to put either in jeopardy. If he did, her job was to do what she had been too weak to do when he returned from Ishval.

She’d learned as much as possible about the events surrounding Hughes’ death. A lot of information didn’t make any sense, but she was certain that his second lieutenant’s intuition was correct and the person charged was innocent. She almost wished the soldier _had_ done it, to give Roy some closure. Maybe then he wouldn’t have dived headfirst into a battle with a near-immortal monster. Maybe his team wouldn’t have been scattered throughout the country. Maybe his bodyguard wouldn’t have lost the use of his legs.

“She tried to shake off the thoughts and focus her attention on him, but she realized that her introspection had gone unnoticed. His eyes were glazed over, no doubt lost in his own trail of what-ifs. When he noticed her watching him, he cleared his throat and gave her a watery smile.

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth. It seems I’m a bit too tired to be good company.”

She reached for his hand and ran her thumb gently across the scabbed transmutation circle on the back of his hand. _Matching tattoos,_ she thought for one macabre moment. _How romantic_.

“Why don’t you walk me home, then? You could come in for a drink or two.”

“Can’t drink. Doctor’s orders. But maybe I could trouble you for some tea?”

He walked with an arm around her waist, but it wasn’t the gentle, casual touch between lovers. His fist squeezed her side, like if he were to let go, she would float away, or he would sink.

When they got to the kitchen, he boiled some water and flitted through the cupboards while she took off her heels.

“Where have you hidden the honey?”

She pointed to the shelf and he sat down beside her a moment later with two cups. He scraped his chair closer to  her and pulled her into his one-armed embrace, rubbing her shoulder. She could feel the shake in his hand.

“Riza…”

She hasn’t felt like “Riza” in years. Most people didn’t know her as anything other than Elizabeth, and those that did knew not to use her old name. Roy didn’t slip very often, but when he did, she would feel her treacherous heart squeeze, both devastated and delighted that someone could know her, completely and unquestionably, like he did.

“Roy,” she breathed, both a warning and a response, one soul calling out to another.

He rested his head on her shoulder, face buried in her neck.

“It’s going to be much harder from here on out.”

She touched her forehead to his temple. “We always knew it would be.”

“Even harder than we thought.”

“We’ll have to work smart then.”

He laughed, a hollow sound, and shifted back in his chair until he was looking at her again. “Is there anything I can do to convince you to give this up? Go somewhere safe and live a normal life? Maybe get a job where you don’t have to sell your body for—”

She interrupted him with a press of her palm against his stomach. He flinched hard, hissing in pain at his still-fresh injury.

“Who’s selling their body?” she countered, teasing.

He scowled. “Riza, you don’t understand what kind of danger we’re in.”

“Then tell me.”

“I can’t.” He grabbed her elbows desperately, leaning towards her again, hiding his face in her shoulder. “You’re all I have left in the world to lose.”

She found herself leaning into his shoulder as well, wrapping her hands around his forearms. Her nose was pressed against the pulse of his neck.

They stayed like that for a while, leaning against each other, supporting the other’s weight. If she were to move away now, he would fall, and vice-versa. But she didn’t plan on moving away yet, not until he had the energy to stay upright himself.

After a long time, he whispered. “You’re all I have, and I wish I didn’t have you. I wish you were never dragged into all this. I wish you never met me.”

The words cut through her. He may only have wanted her to be safe, but she couldn’t imagine a life without him. His presence was sewn into the fabric of every aspect of her life since she’d met him. “Do you remember when we were kids?” she asked, the words slightly muffled against his shoulder. “You hated school, remember? You complained that you had to learn about things like the afterlife.”

“I thought it was so stupid at the time,” he responded lowly. “I guess I should have paid more attention. If there is a God, I doubt I’ll be shown any mercy. The things I’ve done…”

She squeezed his arm as a warning, before pulling herself back up to face him. He slumped back, not meeting her eye.

“You said that we should focus on _this_ world. Remember? You said there was no point dwelling on possible worlds. In this world, you have me.” She stroked his cheek, and he looked at her. He still looked sad, broken. But the life in his eyes wasn’t gone yet, and she clung to that.

“And if there is a life after death, whatever kind—heaven, reincarnation, Truth—if there are infinite different worlds in infinite different universes, I swear I’ll find you in every single one.” She could see a word caught in his throat as his eyes shone, just like when she first met him and he looked at her like he’d wished her into existence. “I’ll follow you into hell if you ask me to.”

He didn’t respond. Not with words, at least. He just took her hand firmly in his and stood, pulling her along with him as he headed for her bedroom, leaving the tea to cool on the table, untouched.

 

* * *

 

He left before dawn, affecting a stagger and a lisp so passersby would think he’d spent the night drinking. She heard the faint notes of his off-key singing from her room as he walked down the street. She rolled her eyes fondly; Roy was a good actor but he was always lacking in discretion.

She heard the bustle as the girls came upstairs from their shift. She was opening in less than five hours, but she wasn’t yet tired, so she walked downstairs in the hopes that a cup of tea might settle her.

As she stepped into the kitchen, she heard the sound of the chimes above the front door, placed precisely to ensure that the staff can hear when a customer arrived. She frowned. None of the girls would be stupid enough not to lock up before leaving. Not here, where the veil between service and subterfuge sat thick in the air like cigar smoke. Every single one of these girls—herself included—could be executed as an enemy of the state if they weren’t careful. Leaving a door unlocked allowed for far bigger threats than a simple robbery.

Riza searched the cabinets as quietly as possible until she found one of the many small pistols the Madame had dotted around the bar as standard procedure. The weight of it assured her it was loaded. She took a deep breath before slinking toward the bar.

She almost dropped the gun.

A young boy with black hair stood a few feet from the counter. His eyes locked onto her as soon as she came into his periphery. His face was blank, no look of curiosity or confusion. He didn’t look lost, despite his surroundings.

It took a moment for the shock to wear off, before her mind started doing what it did best, piecing together the strange, puzzling child in front of her.

She’d seen him before, but she hadn’t met him. How, then? Maybe pictures shown by drunk fathers as they explain their marriage problems. Pictures…Yes she’d seen pictures of him before. Pictures printed with ink that rubs off onto your fingers. Newspaper photos. Headlined, with his father standing proud beside him. His father, the führer. Selim Bradley. The most famous child in the country, with the possible exception of the child-alchemist Roy had recruited.

Her eyes darted to the front door, still slightly ajar. The inside looked fine but the handle for the outside lay on the floor, encased in splintered wood. There was no protocol for this, no flirty trick to handle the führer’s young son seemingly breaking in with nothing but inhuman strength. She hid the gun behind her nightdress and decided that the safest option was to play dumb. She pitched her voice high and breezy.

“Are you okay, little boy? Where are your parents?”

“So you’re the missing piece,” the boy said, though he sounded off, like he was surrounded by tiled walls that bounced his voice again and again into a dozen different utterances at once. The sound made Riza’s lungs feel like they were encased in ice. Still, she smiled a clueless smile.

“Do you know your home phone number? Your mother must be worried sick.”

Her smile faltered as the shadows around him shifted in the dim light. Suddenly, they seemed to take on an extra dimension, as if they themselves were made of matter. They stretched and thinned into tendrils, creeping along the floor until she could feel them, climbing across her arms, tightening around her wrist until her palm opened and the gun dropped onto the floor with a loud thud.

“That won’t work on me, _Riza Hawkeye_ ,” he said her name slowly, a self-satisfied grin stretching across his face. It looked unnatural on a child.

Riza opened her mouth to speak—though she hadn’t anything in particular to say—but instead released a choked gasp as the tendrils wrapped around her throat. She felt the warm, wet trickle of blood slowly drip down her jaw, before her mind caught up and registered the sharp sting across her cheek.

She was frozen in place, from fear or from some otherworldly incapacitation she couldn’t tell, but her rational mind broke through. In her line of work, this wasn’t the first time she had been choked, and staying calm was rule number one, so the air left in her lungs wasn’t wasted.

“So, your grandfather’s not quite the fool he makes himself out to be,” the boy pondered, tilting his head. Riza swore she saw eyes blinking within the shadowy limbs. Her limbs started to tingle; she was losing circulation.

The child-monster continued. “I don’t know the hows and whys of your arrangement with the Flame Alchemist, but he’s been here a lot, wouldn’t you agree? And it seems you’re the common denominator. He must hold a lot of affection for you.” He spat the word out, a disgusted look on his face, before smiling again, sinister and pleased. “Much easier to control a dog when you know what makes him sit.”

She put all her energy into not reacting, not even when the grasp on her neck loosened. She took a steady breath, fighting the urge to choke and gasp. She pitched her voice low and steady. “Are you trying to humor me with your empty threats? It's just wasteful to kill your leverage.”

It laughed, impressed. “My my. How perceptive you are.”

The air around her began to warm up as the root-like limbs retracted from her body. The lights in the room flickered.

“Just remember: no matter where you are, I will be watching you, from the shadows.” Another flicker of the lights and the creature was gone.

The air felt stagnant for a moment as Riza looked around, body coiled and anticipating. But then that heavy atmosphere dissipated completely.

She bent to retrieve the pistol, before her body crumpled, spent. She knelt with her hands on her knees, doubled over and taking uneven, shaking gulps of air.

The Madame was the first to find her, and though her words were white noise in Riza’s ears, she felt herself being helped up, and led to bedroom. The other girls flocked to her shortly after.

They asked questions, fussed over the cut on her face and helped her into bed, and Riza registered none of it. When she woke up again, she was alone, and it was dark outside. She powered through her muddled thoughts enough to get dressed and go downstairs, but it took far longer than usual.

Someone else had opened, but she stood behind the quiet bar anyway. Nobody told her to go back to bed; she would have refused if she did.

Hours passed in a blur as she spaced out, tried to tie her thoughts together in a way that made some sort of sense. Clarity only seemed to break through when she saw a familiar mop of messy black hair come through the doors, mostly obscured by a comical amount of flowers.

He dumped the various bouquets on the bar with a wide smile. “I know it’s excessive, but I’m a little drunk,” he said, so confidently that she would have believed him if she didn’t know for a fact that he was explicitly told not to drink by his doctor.

Riza stared at the flowers, at the shadows of the stems, as if she were convinced that they were going to move.

“What’s wrong?”

She inhaled sharply, looking back up at him. His smile was gone, the gravity of his tone felt heavy, like a weight on her shoulders. When his eyes scanned her face, they widened. He reached out, gently, to touch her cheek. She felt a dull pain at his touch, suddenly remembering the cut.

_“You don’t understand what kind of danger we’re in.”_

It wasn’t safe for him to be here, wasn’t safe for him to touch her so gently, in public where everyone could see. How foolish they’d been, playing at being lovers, showing so plainly how much deeper their affections were.

She tried to smile. “The girls have missed you, you know. You should give some of these to Vanessa, or Wendy.”

“Who did this to you?” he almost whispered, his voice even. But his eyes burned, a silent rage filling him to the brim.

_“No matter where you are, I will be watching you.”_

She opened her mouth to change the subject again, but his eyes stopped her in her tracks. He wasn’t going to let it go. She sighed internally. She wouldn’t let it go either, if the positions were reversed. But she couldn’t just come out and say it; no matter how concerned he was, she wasn’t about to paint a target on his back. Not now, when they were walking a razor-wire tightrope, so close to success and so likely to die before reaching it.

Instead, she found a glass and poured a whiskey. He looked like he was about to object, but she met his eye and tried her best to channel a message into her stare. _Trust me_.

_Tap. Tap._

She placed in front of him, watching his eyes light up in recognition. She found her voice again, steady and breezy just like she learned.

“It’s such a silly story, Roy. I’m so _embarrassed,_ ” she giggled.

He took a sip of the drink, or pretended to at least, before  placing it back on the bar.

_Tap. Tap._

“I love silly stories, Elizabeth. I’m listening.”

“Well, I was with Sara and Ellen upstairs, and we were talking about the letter we got from Lisa…”  


* * *

 

She sat cross-legged on the floor, refusing to look away from the man across from her, mirroring her pose. She has been flirted with and threatened by men twice his height, with muscles and machismo to rival the Armstrong son, and she has never flinched. But there was something about this man’s calculating gaze that made her feel like he knew all the answers to the questions he was inevitably going to ask.

“So what’s your surname?” he said eventually.

“Mooney.”

“And where did you grow up?”

“Around here.”

“Where did you go to school?”

“The girl’s school on Windsor street. It’s closed down now.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Convenient.”

She shrugged. “Not for the students, I suppose.”

“Mustang grew up around here too. Were you buddies at school?”

“I already said, I went to a girl’s school.”

“So you didn’t know him at all?”

“No.”

“That’s strange.”

“It’s a big city.”

He stayed silent again for a while, planning his next move no doubt. She was struck with the overwhelming urge to lord her own knowledge in his face. _I know all about you, Heymans Breda._ But she felt like that would be playing right into his hands.

She felt something wet touch her hand, and turned to see the adorable black dog nuzzling against her. She stroked its fur.

“He seems to like you,” the boy-soldier said nervously. She smiled kindly at him. He was clearly uncomfortable that she was undergoing such scrutiny under his colleague, but in truth she was enjoying the interrogation. Roy had some very capable men behind him.

Breda spoke again. “I feel like I’ve seen you before. Have you been in the newspaper? Maybe on a poster or two?”

“One magazine shoot, last year. Maybe that’s what you’re thinking of.”

“That your natural hair color?”

“Wanna check?”

“What made you decide to work in the Madame’s bar?”

“Money.”

He snorted. “And what brings you here? Mustang would have to be shelling out a lot for you to risk your life like this.”

“Maybe he is.”

“That stingy bastard? Doubtful. Why didn’t—”

She was spared from further interrogation when the door swung open. Breda and Fuery snapped to attention immediately, leaving Riza to sit stroking the puppy that had made its way onto her lap.

His face faltered when he looked down at her. “Riza?”

She ignored Breda’s muttered “I knew it” and gently placed the dog beside her, before standing up to approach him.

He continued to stare at her incredulously. “I had it on excellent authority that you were on a beach somewhere in Aerugo.”

She smiled and opened her jacket, letting him catch a peek of the pistol sheathed in her shoulder holster. “I thought I’d try out a new career. I’ve been thinking that maybe I’m getting a little too old for the job.”

He studied her all over, a warm smile blooming on his face. “Too old? Nonsense, Elizabeth. You’re still a knockout.”

She resisted the urge to grab him, to pull him in for a kiss right in front of his subordinates. A kiss would feel too much like a precaution, like there would be a chance of it being their _last_ kiss. And neither of them could afford to think like that right now.

Breda cleared his throat behind her.

“Your orders, Sir.”

 

* * *

 

She spotted his hat on the coat-rack in the foyer. She didn’t know he had a meeting today, but then again she wasn’t being kept in the loop. Her grandfather was quite adamant about her prescribed bed rest.

She plucked the hat from the hook and put it on. It was a little too big, tilting immediately to one side.

“Suits you.”

She turned around, seeing him leaning against the door to Grumman’s office, arms crossed and a smirk on his face. It was nice to see the black of his eyes again, instead of the milky grey that had replaced it for weeks.

She approached him slowly, her legs were still a little shaky if she was out of bed for too long, but the pain and the exhaustion were just further proof to her that she was alive, that she lived like he ordered her to and she kept him alive too. It felt good to be on the other side of the battle.

His mouth opened in surprise as she approached, looking just above her forehead.

“The blonde looks good,” he said, reaching out and combing the short ends with his fingers. It had been cut short when she was in the hospital, to make the wound easier to clean. And in truth she was happy to go back to her natural color as well.

She got the strangest sense of deja-vu as he moved his palm to cup the back of her head, his thumb tracing ever-so-gently across the scar on her neck.

“So why were you meeting with the führer? Is he planning a parade to celebrate you for rescuing his poor helpless granddaughter?” she asked with a smirk.

“Everyone would see right through that. They’d take one look at you and know that you rescued yourself,” he retorted playfully. “The meeting wasn’t too important. Just an excuse to check out the new digs, maybe see if I could have a set of eyes on the inside,” his free hand reached to hold her waist, to draw her in a little closer.

“You want me to betray my own grandfather?”

“Not at all. I just want you to make sure he doesn’t redecorate. I want this place to look just like it does now, when I move in.”

Even with his twinkling eyes and cheeky grin, the casual way in which he spoke made her feel like she was glowing inside. The work wasn’t over, by any stretch, but after all the underground tactics, fighting and secrecy, the main thing they had to do right now was simply _wait_. They were one step from complete victory, from the fulfillment of a goal that seemed almost impossible a few years ago.

Still, even though she was proud and excited and had complete faith in the man in front of her, she couldn’t help but tease him a little more.

“First you blow up my workplace, and now you’re already planning how to kick me out of my new home?”

He laughed—the first _real_ laugh she’s heard from him in a long time, carefree and almost loud, from his chest. He pulled her closer against his him and wrapped his arms around her back. He kissed a smile into the crown of her hair.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously I know the big question you're all asking: "What exactly happened to Black Hayate?"
> 
> Fuery snuck him into the military dorms, and got away with it. He is not very well disciplined but he's happy and healthy.


End file.
